Harlen Sinclair
"Some say the world will end in fire, some say in '''ICE'." ~ Robert Frost'' Backstory (An excerpt from the journal of Harlen James Sinclair) My name is Harlen James Sinclair, and I am one of the last, greatest champions of Mercury. I fear, between Seraphim and this damned mist, my days may well be numbered, so I am recording in this journal my story so that it will not be lost like so many others. Mine is a tale of treachery, treason, double dealing, and intrigue, and through my life’s choices, I find myself now thoroughly stuck between a rock and a hard place. Hopefully there is someone out there who will find this and learn a thing or two from it. Before I tell you about myself, it is important to understand a few things about the Sinclair family. We can trace our lineage back to Garran Sinclair, during the founding of the city of Orleans in the southern part of Emerica. Even back then, my family had a penchant for political intrigue. Garran ruled the city council through any means necessary, whether it be bribery, blackmail, or even organizing an “accident” or two to occur. Our entire family stems from him, and we have kept his tradition of political involvement alive and well through our many generations. Some of our more notable family members include Julian Sinclair, who kept demand for oil high in the city to keep his business afloat even after the discovery of steam power, and Cassandra Sinclair, who used the suffrage movement to garner favors and secure her position in office. Yes, ours is an old and strong family, and though we try and stay out of the limelight as much as possible, we always find a way to get what is ours. Now, the current generation of Sinclair’s is rather small, the result of years of selective breeding and in fighting. There is my father, Guillome Sinclair, a powerful champion of Mars. He used his portion of the family fortune to form a munitions company, Sinclair Firearm Solutions, which is now one of Emerica’s largest weapons manufacturers, producing handguns and hunting rifles for the common man and rifles and cannons for the military. Then there is my mother, Theresa Arana Sinclair, who was a trophy wife and daughter of an aristocratic family from Orleans. She was not a champion, which was normally frowned upon in the Sinclair family, but her family had old ties to the city. Finally, there’s my twin brother, Holden Sinclair, another champion of Mars, and of course, myself. The Sinclair name now belonged to our humble family alone, but we wore it with pride and honor. We lived well, and for the first several years of my life, I felt we had a perfect family. My brother and I were raised as equals for the first several years of our lives, and our mother and father took a strong role in our lives. However, around the age of five, when we first began to think and speak with any sort of intelligence, my father made Holden his obvious favorite, teaching him everything he knew of guns, business, and war. It seemed that he had long wanted a child who was of the same god as himself, and Holden just happened to be that child. I was all but forgotten by him, speaking to him only on rare occasions such as holidays and vacations. It was my mother who took care of me during my formative years. She didn’t revel in violence as my father did, so she raised me on rhetoric and logic. My brother and I grew more and more distant as the years passed and our interests more and more varied. When our powers began to manifest at the age of thirteen, he became obsessed with my father’s weapons, spending all of his time at the factory designing bigger and better guns with my father. Our house became as quiet as the grave with only my mother and I, and occasionally a maid or two, to live in it. At sixteen I was able to attend university and study law, politics, and history. My brother joined the military and received a rather easygoing post. At twenty, I graduated with honors, and my brother was a Sergeant. Almost immediately after graduating, I ran for a position on the Orleans’ city council. An ambitious move for one so young, it took everything I had to win that seat. There was bribery, blackmail, and more than a few actions that are not entirely “legal”. This, combined with my family’s standing in the city, secured my position, and I was praised as one of the youngest council members in history. As a form of congratulations, my father sent me a special nine shot 9mm pistol, Ordo, that he had made especially for me. I will not lie and say that this did not touch me in some way. I felt as though this gift was my father’s attempt at apologizing for the years of neglect on his part. However, his true intentions were revealed much later when he approached me and asked me to make a proposal to the city council. He wanted all of Orleans’ law enforcement to use Sinclair guns, but all previous attempts to pass such a movement had failed. The issue was, if I proposed such a movement, it would be seen as a blatant attempt to line my family’s pockets. However, my father knew that I skimmed a little off the top of the city’s funds when there was a surplus, and he threatened to reveal this to everyone if I didn’t concede. So I did. I apprehensively proposed the idea to the council, who reacted roughly how I imagined they would, but the people of Orleans loved me, and after enough angry calls from citizens in the middle of the night, it passed. My father got his contract, I kept my following, but I knew I would have to move up the ladder of progress if I ever wanted to escape my father. Five years after my appointment to the city council, I tried my hand at running for Congress. It was like I had been playing in the minor leagues and decided I was ready for the major leagues. It was a hard fought campaign, and I nearly lost it all, but thanks to the city of Orleans, which made up a good portion of our district’s population, I won with a small majority. I moved to Cincinnatus, leaving behind anything related to my brother and father, save for Ordo. As much as I hated to admit it, the gun meant something special to me, and constant practice at the range had made me quite the shot with it. At the capitol, I remained a congressman for four years. I gained a reputation, not just for being one of the youngest Congressmen of Emerica, but also as a surprisingly popular political figure. The mix of my age and charisma attracted many women (and men), and I always voted in line with the public, securing my spot in the polls. I continued to skim from general funds, allowing me to keep up my aristocratic lifestyle. The only time issues arose was when, two years into my career, my brother stepped forward during a discussion of military funds. Little had I known, my brother had risen to the rank of General through my father’s influence and skill at arms. Now he was one of the main lobbyists for the Emerican army. For two years, he and I argued constantly in the Capitol, going blow for blow in debate with no clear winner in sight. Then, one day, he and I reached a breaking point. In secret, we challenged each other to an old fashioned duel. We met on a farm outside of Cincinnatus and walked the traditional 20 paces and turned. Now, Holden thought that he would have the advantage, being militarily trained and all, but he was trained in rifles. I had spent years familiarizing myself with pistols. I did not seek to kill my brother, as murder looks rather bad on one’s reputation, so I aimed for his knee. Apparently I aimed too well, as I managed to completely separate his kneecap from his leg, making him wildly shoot the air. A passing car heard the shots and alerted the authorities, who then came to take my brother and myself away. Now, here’s where politics get tricky. Emerica has been in an odd situation since the three nations went to war. The government has avoided publishing any negative news about itself and its officials. A congressman shooting the knee of his brother, who happens to be an Emerican general, is VERY negative news. I have no doubt that if I had killed him I would have been arrested, or worst, but because I only injured him, we were able to make special arrangements. They knew that, put in front of a courtroom, I could talk my way out of any sentencing, and even continue my tenure as a congressman, so we struck a deal to avoid any legal issues. Holden would remain a general, but a noncombatant, and would be hailed as a “war hero”. The official statement would be that he lost his knee to a landmine. As a side note, he would no longer be able to bend that leg, giving him a very odd gait for the rest of his life. I would step down from my position as congressman for personal reasons, and never run for reelection. In exchange for my cooperation, I would receive a permanent ambassadorial job and maintain my office in the capitol building. This deal worked out just fine for myself, as I knew that the job paid well and had a minimal amount of work. (I had also embezzled enough money to purchase a small island nation.) Still, I couldn’t help but miss the intrigue and power plays of congress. An interesting fact is that the government higher ups, while not actively aggressive towards myself, did not care for my luxurious living off of their tax dollars. They gave me the worst jobs possible, dealing with odd and dangerous tasks such as kraken in the sewers, but I always excelled in my work. It was their latest job that changed everything. I was to act as a peace delegate towards a group from Holder Trow. We all knew it was a suicide mission, and that’s why they sent me to do it. And that is where my story REALLY begins. Personality Harlen is a champion of Mercury and a semi-major political figure. As such, he has a rather "mightier than thou" image of himself. However, he is incredibly guarded and vague, often understating himself when he feels it would be better for an enemy to underestimate himself. When around potential allies and companions, Harlen behaves civilized and composed. However, when left to his own devices, Harlen pursues dark and forbidden practices to acquire more power. If Harlen were to be described in as few words as possible, it would be "a sociopath, and a dangerous one at that".